A Cut From The Mad City Poet

English: Cows at Reclain. No worries in the world!

English: Cows at Reclain. No worries in the world! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“Vanity upon vanity,
All is vanity!”
Says the poet.

Which is worse?
Growing up,
Or running stark raving mad?

At least,
The mad man could get so mad,
He feels little pain from his condition.

This unsurprisingly is the problem
With growing up –
Worries!

Way earlier than you,
These Worries wake up healthy and strong,
So they can wake you up. Unfailingly.

They are there /crocodile tears/
When you look lovingly at your sick wife
Beside you on the bed.

They are there beside your 10-year old boy /mischievously grinning/
When he shamefully greets you
With wet pants.

They eat at YOUR dining table /merry gusto/
When there’s no electricity
To prepare a warm cup of coffee.

Now well-fed,
They step the game
Higher…
They rush ahead to your vehicle /purposefully/
To quickly deflate one of your tires
And steal the spare away.

Meanwhile they petitioned /humbly/
God to fast-forward time.
See the headache banging walking late to work!

They then call on their relatives
Who patronize your sales depot
All day long.

You leave work late evening
A little glad a few dollar-carrying clients
Could squeeze in amongst the throng of Worries.

And worries have gone ahead
To tell the bus-driver
No other soul is coming.

This is where
They score the winning shot…
They cry back
To meet you;
Puppy-kittten looks and all

They tell you
They don’t know how to trek.
How can you ignore them?

And how did they sprain
Their spindly legs?
They did a rain dance!

Introducing:
A lonesome darkened life
Soaked through to the soul
Trekking through the downpour.

You remember
All you are going
To meet at home.

And all exhilarating feelings
Melt faster than chocolate
And paint you darker. In mockery.

A little worry
To season that junk cuisine
And your appetite is set for the night.

Warm under your blanket,
Those worries are yet to sleep.
They tip you over finally.

You shake your pounding head;
You rub your hard but slightly wet eyes;
You feel your shaky heart beating loudly.

Then as an act of mercy.
You find the strength.
To close your eyes and sleep.

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Even the most absurd thoughts can't ruffle this Enchanted Writer. Spill, please...

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